


atop the cold and lonely mountain i was lost and found

by L_Greene



Series: prodigal [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Healing Sex, Insulting Language, M/M, Near-Death Experience, bottom!Genji, top!zenyatta, zenyatta is a human in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene
Summary: Genji ventures up a mountain in search of an order of monks, and gets more than he bargained for. M for sexual content.





	atop the cold and lonely mountain i was lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea on Tuesday night or something and then I could not shake it out of my head, so here you go. I thought it was only going to be about 5,000 words, but jeez, was I wrong.
> 
> If the last 2k words or so are a bit wonky, I apologize. I'm on painkillers right now and I also don't have a beta-reader (as usual--nearly nothing I write is beta'd).

Maybe this had been a mistake. A rumor of a monastery on top of the mountain—had he really believed all that? How could anyone survive up here? Here, in this snowy wasteland where the wind bit at his exposed skin with sharply pointed teeth, digging its fierce nails into his flesh and ripping into him with icy, calculated precision.

His breath swirled faintly around his head in the chill, a mist that was far too weak in the storm. The air was achingly thin. He didn't know how high up he was anymore—he'd been climbing up this mountain for what felt like years but had really only been two or three days. He'd lost track of time in the pale whiteness, where the gray clouds hid the sun until day blended into night with barely shades between them. He'd underestimated this mountain, and it would be his undoing.

He could almost hear his brother laughing at him, a bitter sound that echoed in his head. _Foolish, arrogant brat_ , Hanzo would call him. _It's what you deserve for thinking yourself equal to such a journey._ The imagined slight stiffened his resolve, and he pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face. It did little to warm him, but it kept the bitter cold out of his eyes as he trudged on.

But he was so cold. The water in the bottle he'd brought had frozen solid, and trying to melt it against his bare skin would sap more of his precious body heat. When had he eaten last? The dried meat in his pack was brittle and nigh-impossible to chew. The last time he'd tried, it had cut into the roof of his mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, either. Hours? Days? Decades? His ears rang and his head pounded and he could hardly breathe.

A bead of sweat rolled down his back, followed by another. “No,” he whispered into the wind, tugging his collar over his mouth. His body felt strangely hot, his instincts telling him to drop his pack, take off his cloak, but he knew, at least, that it would kill him in minutes. It was the hypothermia setting in, tricking him into thinking he was warm when he was beginning to freeze.

_Just give up, haughty boy. You thought you could tame this mountain, but you will die up here. No one will find you. You are already lost._

He swayed on the spot, snow finally seeping into his boots through the cloth of his pants. His feet felt hot and cold. There was a pounding in his head and a roaring in his ears. _I'm going to die._

But it wasn't so bad, was it? He would never see his family again, but he would die doing something that few before him had dared venture. In his pursuit of enlightenment, he might still reach a higher understanding, even if it was after death.

And in the distance—look, a spirit approached. An angel, he might have even said, had he believed in such things. A figure moving towards him, a light guiding the way, a tranquil being cutting through the maelstrom.

“I ascend,” he murmured, and slumped back into the snow.

* * *

When he next awoke, he felt warm, warmer than he'd felt since he'd started up the mountain. The warmth tickled up his sides, caressing his cheeks like a lover. If he had truly died back there in the snow, then he was certainly in heaven now.

He opened his eyes to take in the view of his surroundings. It appeared that he was in a small cave, but one that someone had taken great care to make comfortable and, yes, a home. He was in a bed pushed into a corner—the mattress was not very wide, just a little larger than he was, but it was piled with furs and blankets that currently enveloped him. Opposite him was the entrance to the cave, a curtain pulled across the opening to keep the chill somewhat separated, although occasionally, a gust ruffled the fabric and set it fluttering. Next to the entrance was a wooden sled with water dripping off it into a puddle on the ground. The cave itself was both lit and warmed by a small fire next to where he lay, tended by a solitary person sitting placidly on a small rug. The moment he'd opened his eyes, the person's gaze shifted to him.

“Hello there,” said the young man with a cautious but enchanting smile. His voice was midrange, and despite how quietly he spoke, it seemed to wrap around him and fill his ears. “I was uncertain you'd survive. I'm glad to see you did.”

“You saved me?” he said uncertainly.

“I happened to see a soul in need of rescue and did what I could to assist.”

“Then I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you everything,” he protested. “I'm Shimada Genji, and it's because of you that I still live. For that, I must repay you.”

The other man gave him a measured look. “Genji,” he said as if testing the weight of his name. “My name is Zenyatta. If you insist on repaying me, the most worthy repayment I can ask is that you live a full and happy life once you return to your home.”

“That... but that's nothing.”

“On the contrary,” Zenyatta said. He gave Genji a brilliant smile, one that warmed the coldest parts of him, places the fire couldn't reach. His eyes were wide and brown, his mouth full and curved. All of the hair on his head had been shaved off, and it gave him an overall ageless appearance. “To live a happy life is a struggle. To allow yourself to become unburdened with regret, to experience true harmony—that is the most worthy goal.”

“And what if I can't go home?” Genji asked, turning onto his side to get a better look. His pack and katana rested at the foot of the mattress, his cloak hanging next to the fire. He realized that his shirt and boots were hanging on the wall near the fire as well—not close enough to burn, just enough to dry them and warm them.

“Then to make your own way, to find your new home, makes a happy life an even more rewarding challenge.”

“You have an answer for everything, don't you?” Genji said petulantly, and Zenyatta laughed. It was the most joyous laugh he'd ever heard, brightening Zenyatta's face and filling Genji's heart so full of light that he thought it might break.

“I do not,” Zenyatta said once his laughter subsided. “It is easy to appear that I do, however, when you ask such simple questions.”

 _He's beautiful_ , Genji thought suddenly, but he pushed it down. “They're not so simple to me.”

“In time,” Zenyatta murmured. “You must be hungry.”

“I—” He was cut short by a loud growling in his stomach. It felt like a creature was trying to claw its way out of him. “Perhaps a little.”

Zenyatta chuckled and set about preparing what looked like a stew. Genji started to get up to help him, but Zenyatta shook his head. “You are still weak.”

“Ridiculous,” Genji said, throwing off the furs and rolling to his feet.

Too fast. He'd barely stood up before he nearly toppled over again, his vision blacking out for a moment. It was only because of Zenyatta, crossing the distance between them with what seemed like preternatural swiftness, that he didn't completely lose his balance. Zenyatta had an arm supporting him in a moment, wrapping around his waist with his other hand against Genji's shoulder blade. Genji's hands unconsciously found its way to Zenyatta's shoulders as he blinked up at him, staring into Zenyatta's glowing brown eyes, their bodies pressed together. Genji's skin seemed to burn with anticipation where Zenyatta touched him, and he was acutely aware of how close they were.

 _Close enough to kiss_ , Genji's brain supplied unhelpfully.

The moment was elastic, stretching—he could have sworn he felt Zenyatta's heart fluttering alongside his own—and then Zenyatta said, “I told you. You must rest, Genji.”

He allowed himself to be helped back into bed, Zenyatta pulling the blankets back over him (did Zenyatta's hand linger on his shoulder a moment longer than necessary?), and this time, he stayed there, watching Zenyatta start to throw ingredients into a pot. He still wanted to help, but he knew he'd risk collapsing again which would probably irritate Zenyatta as well as delay the food. So instead, he lay there, watching Zenyatta move about the room.

He still felt weak, but he knew he was already getting better if Zenyatta could keep his full attention like this. A weight settled in his chest—it wasn't often he was so transfixed by a pretty face, although Zenyatta was more than that. There was a stillness in the way he moved, his every action calm and deliberate. No motion was wasted, a direct opposition to Genji. Despite mastery over his katana, there was a pent-up energy bounding within him, fighting to be released. At home, he had to struggle to find any semblance of stillness in himself. Zenyatta made it look easy.

Before long, the pot was hanging over the fire and a delicious smell filled the cave. Genji sat up, pulling a fur across his shoulders and leaning back against the wall. He had never been very patient—it was one of the reasons he'd ventured up this lonely mountain in the first place. But right now, as hungry as he was, the waiting was nearly torture. He didn't think he'd ever been so empty.

And then Zenyatta was ladling stew into a bowl and handing it to him. “It isn't much, but it will help you regain your strength.”

“Thank you, Zenyatta,” Genji said. Without wasting another moment, he tilted the contents directly down his throat.

The stew was hot, burning his mouth. He knew he'd regret it later, but it was still the best thing he'd ever tasted, flooding him with warmth and slightly soothing the aching in his stomach. After the first scalding mouthful, he slowed down, letting the stew cool off a bit, but he was still finished in under three minutes.

“How long has it been since you last ate?” Zenyatta asked, another bowl cradled in his lap and a small smile on his face.

“I'm not sure. Maybe a day?” Time passed by so strangely here—he couldn't say how long it had been. “Um...” Genji drummed his fingers against the sides of his bowl. It was empty, but he was still hungry. Hunger warred with politeness inside him, but hunger won out. “Is there any more left?”

“Yes, but you should not eat too quickly, or it will make you sick.” Zenyatta set his bowl aside and got smoothly to his feet. “You should have some water, and in a few minutes, I'll fill your bowl again.”

Genji accepted his bottle from Zenyatta, the water inside melted finally after being settled near the fire for so long. He drank the whole bottle in only a few seconds, and it settled strangely in his stomach. Maybe Zenyatta was right—he was eating and drinking too much, too quickly.

He leaned back, setting the bottle on the ground, and watched Zenyatta sit back down and resume eating. Genji realized he was staring and quickly looked down, but if Zenyatta had noticed, he was unruffled.

While the stew gently warmed him, he fidgeted with the blankets, running his fingertips over the furs, stroking them between his thumb and forefinger. Where had all this come from? How long had Zenyatta lived here? Was he here all by himself, or was there someone else?

That last thought filled him with a bitter jealousy that he couldn't justify. He barely knew Zenyatta. He had a whole life that had led to this point—what was to say he didn't have a family somewhere, a sweetheart waiting for him, a lover dreaming of him? Not here, of course. The bed that Genji was sitting on was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. And yet he didn't think he'd mind so much trying to squeeze both him and Zenyatta on the mattress.

“There is disquiet in you,” Zenyatta murmured, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Do you live here alone?” Genji asked. _Really smooth._

Zenyatta was unfazed by the sudden question. “Yes. I find isolation enlightening at times.”

“Enlightening?”

“It is when we are alone with our thoughts that we can truly know ourselves.”

“So how long have you been here by yourself?”

“The last time I saw another soul was eighty-nine days ago.”

Genji tried to imagine being alone for three months, but he couldn't. He would lose his mind completely. “How do you stand the isolation?”

“I find it peaceful,” Zenyatta said. He stood up again and took Genji's bowl to refill it. “I have a routine, which makes the extended solitude not only bearable, but enjoyable.”

“So I guess I'm throwing off your routine, huh?”

Zenyatta faltered for a moment before ladling one last chunk of meat into Genji's stew and handing the bowl back. “Sometimes a change to routine can reveal... deeper truths. Repetition is the path to mastery, and yet a new experience may shift our perspectives.”

Genji's heart thudded. He swirled the stew around in the bowl and tried to think of something else to say, but words failed him. He took a sip, letting himself actually savor Zenyatta's cooking this time, and found that it tasted even better when he slowed down. “If I hadn't shown up, how much longer would you have stayed out here alone?”

“Until the end of the winter,” Zenyatta said. “I come here every winter to reflect.”

“Every winter?”

“This is my seventh year. Ever since I was fifteen, I have made the journey.”

Zenyatta was only twenty-one? He seemed older somehow—but when Genji was able to look past the mature aura he gave off, he could suddenly see the youth that still lingered in the gentle roundness of his face.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes until they both finished eating, Genji a few moments before Zenyatta. He was still hungry, but nowhere near as ravenous as he'd been when he'd first woken up.

Zenyatta smiled as he collected Genji's bowl. “There is still more if you'd still like some, but perhaps after you have had a chance to let your food settle. I trust you enjoyed it?” He set the bowls on a small ledge carved into the wall.

“That's probably the best meal I've ever had.”

“I'm glad you found it satisfactory,” Zenyatta said, pausing above the pot to stir the stew a little more. He'd moved it from direct flame to keep it warm but not overheated.

“Satisfactory?” Genji asked, not sure he'd heard Zenyatta correctly. “That was more than satisfactory, that was...” His voice trailed off. Zenyatta had paused, regarding him with some curiosity.

 _Genji, you have lost your mind._ He ignored the scolding voice in his head as he threw off the blankets, hopped off the mattress, and wrapped his arms around Zenyatta.

But then he froze. What if he'd completely misinterpreted the situation? Maybe Zenyatta hadn't been flirting with him. Maybe he'd just been showing him simple kindnesses and Genji had read far too much into it. Maybe he—

“Are you going to kiss me?” Zenyatta asked softly, looking unblinkingly at him. Genji was shorter than him by a few inches, but it was barely noticeable.

“I—I want to. That is, if you—”

“I would like you to.”

Genji let out a disbelieving laugh and then kissed him.

Zenyatta's hands came up to cup his face, his lips pressing gently but insistently against Genji's. Heat rolled off Zenyatta as if he himself were a fire. Their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly as Zenyatta took the smallest of steps closer until Genji could feel his heartbeat against his chest. Genji ran his palms across the expanse of Zenyatta's back, skimming his fingertips over his spine, suddenly consumed with a desire to melt into Zenyatta's skin.

Zenyatta must have sensed it, too. His lips parted slightly and his tongue teased across the seam of Genji's mouth, and Genji was powerless to resist; he opened his lips and Zenyatta's tongue slipped inside, tentatively running over his teeth, skimming across the roof of his mouth, tracing delicate patterns against his tongue. Genji let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the sound escaping him in a high, breathy moan, and Zenyatta's fingers moved back, curling into Genji's hair, a light but insistent grip that tugged Genji's head back.

His heart pounded and he felt himself stiffening against Zenyatta's thigh—Zenyatta shifted his stance to wedge his leg between Genji's, and he hated the way he needed it, needed to relieve the pressure. _Take me_ , he thought plaintively, suddenly grateful for how thoroughly Zenyatta possessed his mouth, his breath filling Genji's lungs, his tongue exploring farther in and rendering Genji mute, save the gentle panting as he greedily ground his hips against Zenyatta's. Frantic for any friction he could get, his nails dug into Zenyatta's waist, and he smugly registered the undeniable fact that Zenyatta was getting hard, too.

Not that he ever showed it. Far from getting swept away like Genji was dangerously close to doing, Zenyatta retained his remarkable self-control even as his tongue skimmed over Genji's and one of his hands slipped past the waistband of Genji's pants. His movements still unhurried, he curled his fingers around Genji's length and slowly started stroking him.

Genji gasped, instinctively rutting into Zenyatta's hand. His legs didn't seem to want to support him anymore, his knees trembling as he clung to Zenyatta, fighting to stay upright, but the shock to his body—Zenyatta's touch, Zenyatta's kiss, _Zenyatta—_ had him slipping.

Zenyatta's thumb skimmed over his cheek as he pulled back, finally breaking the kiss. “Would you like me to help you with this?”

Genji's heart thudded. “Y-you don't have to—”

“I want to.”

Genji nodded. “Me too.”

“Lie down,” Zenyatta murmured, nudging Genji back toward the mattress.

He wasn't sure how much longer he would have been able to stand anyway, so Genji was grateful to take the two steps back and drop onto the bed. Zenyatta quickly followed, wrapping one of the fur blankets around them to block out the chill that had started to seep in again. It also helped when Zenyatta slid his pants off, leaving Genji completely naked.

Zenyatta moved over him, capturing Genji's mouth in a heated kiss that had his head spinning in moments. Just as Genji was feeling well and truly dizzy, Zenyatta settled back on his knees between Genji's legs—he hadn't even realized he'd spread them until now—and said, “Do you want me to just touch you, or would you prefer deeper stimulation?”

Genji's heart skipped a beat. He knew what Zenyatta was asking—and right now, he wanted nothing more than for Zenyatta to make love to him. “The second option sounds like more fun.”

“I agree,” Zenyatta said in a matter-of-fact tone that was almost comical under the circumstances. He reached past the head of the mattress for something. “I believe you'll experience more pleasure this way.” When he drew back his arm, there was a jar in his hand.

It turned out to contain lubricant, for which Genji was grateful. He'd done this before and knew what needed to happen, and he was relieved that Zenyatta was prepared.

Even though he was familiar with the sensation—he'd been mentally bracing himself for it since the moment he'd kissed Zenyatta for the first time—it was still a shock to his system when Zenyatta slid the first lubricant-covered finger inside him. He gasped, fighting to relax, but the tension in him wound around his spine and settled between his hips. His hands balled into fists, every tendon in his body threatening to snap him in two.

Zenyatta seemed undisturbed, his finger tracing hypnotic patterns that gently loosened Genji's muscles. His slow, deliberate pace gradually calmed him until Genji was completely weightless, splayed out across the mattress. He felt like he was floating; he didn't realize he'd been murmuring, “Zen... oh, _Zen_...” until Zenyatta, running his free hand over Genji's thigh, said, “Are you alright?”

Genji couldn't quite get his brain to work properly. He just nodded and slackened his own fingers, releasing the furs beneath him. “Uh-huh,” he was able to choke out.

Then Zenyatta slipped in a second finger, which went in so smoothly that Genji barely registered it. It was just a slightly more insistent push, a hardly-perceptible stretch until they went deeper, and suddenly Zenyatta's fingertips were playing across the sweet spot inside him.

Genji moaned, his hand unconsciously moving so he could pleasure himself with Zenyatta's ministrations. Before he'd moved even an inch, though, Zenyatta pinned his wrist above his head. “Will you let me do this?” he breathed, pausing for a moment.

Genji nodded, suddenly acutely aware of how heavily he was breathing.

And then Zenyatta was moving again, his fingers sparking a fire in him that threatened to consume them both. Genji's thighs, drawn up to hold Zenyatta against him, trembled from the sharp, achingly deep sensations that Zenyatta elicited. He moaned and rocked his hips as if he could take in more of him—and then Zenyatta slid in a third finger, pushing Genji's hips back down with his other hand even as Genji whimpered.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had taken this much time with him. Had _anyone_ bothered to go this slow, to turn him inside-out, to make him want them this badly? And he wanted Zenyatta, more than he knew how to say. With only three fingers, Zenyatta could take him apart brick by brick and rebuild him, and Genji wanted him to. He gasped again when Zenyatta's fingertips, tapping and dragging across the deepest parts of him, sent sparks dancing across his vision, and a low heat settled into his skin. He felt the end charging toward him—not yet unstoppable, but certainly undeniable—and it wasn't enough, _it wasn't enough_. He wanted to feel all of Zenyatta, even if it meant going against his body's wishes.

“Ah— _Zen_!” Genji whimpered. “Wait—wait, Zen— _gah—_!”

“What is it?” Zenyatta murmured, stilling his fingers.

Genji wondered how he could say what was on his mind without sounding like a fool. It didn't help that he was fighting through the pleasured haze in his mind. Zenyatta knew just how to make him melt. “I, uh, I'm so close, and you—I wanted—I _want—_ ” He reached between them and cupped the front of Zenyatta's pants, palming his hardness through the fabric. “I want _you_.”

Zenyatta kissed him, a light brush of his lips that still rendered him silent. “Trust me.”

He breathed heavily, trying to mull it over, but Zenyatta's fingers were still inside him, pressing against that spot that had him nearly breaking. His want for Zenyatta's length buried in him warred with his aching need for release—but in the end, need won out. “Okay,” he breathed, nodding quickly and pulling his hand back, and immediately, Zenyatta's fingers were in motion again, sending shockwaves through his body, and he cried out, fisting the blankets beneath him as his back arched, his hips bucked, and his head fell back, slipping off the mattress. “Oh yes, Zen—yes—so good—please, oh yes— _Zenyatta!_ ”

Genji screamed his name as Zenyatta's skilled fingers worked him through a blinding orgasm. He moaned pathetically as it ebbed away, but Zenyatta's hand kept thrusting and suddenly the aftershocks cascaded through him, a flood of sensation he hadn't even thought possible that wrapped tight in his belly and squeezed until he was practically sobbing with pleasure. He trembled as the second wave finally faded and Zenyatta withdrew his hand. Genji couldn't move even if he wanted to—he had never been fingered to a climax so intense in his life. In fact, he didn't think anyone had _ever_ made him feel this good. No other lover, regardless of gender, had ever been able to play his body quite so perfectly. He tried to recall someone who had even come close, but his mind was full of Zenyatta, who was still sitting in between his legs with a satisfied smile.

It was then that Genji truly understood—he was ruined. Zenyatta had been totally focused on Genji's pleasure without a thought for his own. No one else had ever come close to that, and he doubted anyone else ever would. But now he knew more than anything that maybe, getting lost on this mountain wasn't the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

He pulled himself up, supporting himself with one arm flung behind him while his other hand cupped Zenyatta's cheek. “How did you learn to do _that_?”

“Experimentation,” he said simply, without a trace of embarrassment. “After enough time alone, one must become creative.”

It took a few seconds for that to sink in. “You practiced that on yourself?”

“Of course. It was a bit of a challenge to work out the angles and keep enough pressure in the right places, but I eventually found success.” Zenyatta said it so matter-of-factly, like they were discussing a recipe or hunting, but that didn't stop Genji's mind from flying right to the mental image of Zenyatta laying here alone, pleasuring himself. It was a distracting series of visuals, and Genji's mouth went dry.

“Have you learned any other tricks from the extended isolation?”

Zenyatta laughed and, instead of answering, leaned forward to kiss him. “I have. Would you like me to show you?”

“More than anything.”

For a few minutes more, the two of them kissed, and Genji reveled in the solid weight of Zenyatta pressing him down into the bed, reminding him that he was still alive. His thighs already ached from being parted for so long, but he wouldn't complain when it was Zenyatta between them, finally entirely naked himself, his fingers raking over his chest. Sooner than Genji thought possible, he felt his body start to respond to the attention again. Zenyatta's lips against his quirked up in a smile.

“Will you continue to trust me?” Zenyatta asked quietly.

Genji didn't even need to think about it. “Yes.”

Zenyatta reached for the jar of lubricant again and used a generous amount of it to cover himself. Then he leaned back to sit on his knees and held out his hand for Genji to take. He allowed himself to be led onto Zenyatta's lap and positioned above his length.

“Breathe,” Zenyatta said, and then guided Genji down until he'd penetrated him completely.

Genji was glad that Zenyatta had reminded him to breathe, because his first response was to hold his breath. He exhaled it as a shaky moan, but he couldn't stop his nails from biting into Zenyatta's shoulders. Zenyatta's hands slid down to his hips and he kissed Genji's neck. Genji gasped, every nerve ending demanding that he move, but he couldn't—Zenyatta's hands kept him in place.

“Slowly,” Zenyatta breathed, his fingers skimming over Genji's skin, caressing his thighs, his back, his stomach. With his help, Genji slowly raised his body until Zenyatta had nearly slid out of him, and then just as slowly, he sank back down. “That's it,” Zenyatta whispered as Genji hid his face in Zenyatta's neck to muffle the sound that escaped him. His heart slammed into his rib cage. “Just like that...”

Again and again, so slowly that Genji thought he would break, he repeated the movement. Zenyatta never let him go, his hands exploring every inch of skin he could reach, keeping Genji grounded even when he felt himself soaring away. He didn't know how Zenyatta maintained his self-control so easily when he had to sink his fingernails into Zenyatta's shoulders—but Zenyatta didn't seem to mind.

It felt like his first time all over again. All he wanted to do was push Zenyatta back and take control, to move faster, chase that friction he craved, but Zenyatta's touch was as soothing as it was igniting, giving him the anchor Genji needed to stay in the moment.

“That's it,” Zenyatta breathed, and Genji realized he could feel Zenyatta's pulse—thudding hard from the effort—pressed to his neck.

“Zen, please...” Genji said, clenching down on Zenyatta's length. “I can't—I _need_ —”

“Just breathe.” Zenyatta's fingers raked through his hair, pulling his head back until they were face-to-face again. “Look at me.”

Genji nodded quickly, keeping up the same slow, steady motion—Zenyatta nearly out, leaving Genji aching before he slid back in—but this time, with Zenyatta's eyes boring right into him, there was a deeper undercurrent of intimacy. It only took him a second to figure out what that fluttering in his chest meant.

_Genji, you absolute fool. You've fallen in love with him._

It wrapped around him, pulling him closer to Zenyatta, filling him with light. Genji gasped, tilting his forehead to Zenyatta's, and rocked against him. It was a simple action, one that had both of Zenyatta's arms coiling around him. Zenyatta gasped, his eyes closing for a minute as his control slipped ever so slightly. It was all Genji needed.

He moved against Zenyatta again and again, and even though he felt like he would break if he maintained the languid pace Zenyatta set, he fought it, groaning every time Zenyatta filled him up again. It felt like every choice he'd made had led him to this moment, every mistake pointing him toward this mountain. It was hard not to believe in fate when nearly freezing to death had brought him to Zenyatta.

And it seemed like Zenyatta had known exactly what he was talking about—even thrusting this slowly was still starting to make him slip. Zenyatta's length would graze against the sweet spot inside Genji and he needed _more_ , it wasn't enough, but there was a tension building in his chest and sinking into his bones, making all of his muscles tremble—

Zenyatta caught him as he nearly toppled backwards; Genji cried out, his head tilting back, suddenly blindsided by the onslaught of pleasure. His legs hooked around Zenyatta's hips as he breathlessly arched back, moaning out Zenyatta's name as he fell apart again, giving way to another blindingly-intense orgasm that seemed to stretch into years.

“Oh, _Genji_ ,” Zenyatta murmured, letting out a soft whimper, and even through the pleasured haze in his head, Genji felt heat flooding into him. Zenyatta was coming in him, and Genji had never felt so thoroughly claimed in his life. It was like he'd been waiting for this connection his whole life, like against all odds, he was right where he belonged.

He didn't want to move. He just wanted to stay here, slumped limply against Zenyatta, feeling him breathing heavily with their arms around each other. He didn't know where he ended and Zenyatta began and he didn't care; Genji nuzzled into his shoulder, lazily trailing kisses over Zenyatta's skin.

_Am I dreaming?_

“Genji,” he whispered.

Genji blinked at him. “Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

He was exhausted, but it was a deeply-satisfying sort of exhaustion, just the type he expected to have from such an intensely-fulfilling bout of lovemaking. There was a faint, lingering hunger, but he could tolerate that. “Amazing.”

Zenyatta chuckled and gently extracted himself from inside Genji. Genji let out a quiet groan, and then he gingerly climbed off Zenyatta's lap. He hadn't realized how sore he was until he finally lay back, Zenyatta tugging the blankets tightly over them. He wound an arm around Genji, who turned his back to Zenyatta and tucked himself under his chin. It was a tight fit, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed being this close to him.

“Genji, why did you journey up this mountain?”

“I'm looking for the Shambali monks,” Genji murmured. “I heard a rumor their monastery was atop this mountain. I wish to train under them.” His eyes fluttered open for a moment. “Are they here, or was I lied to?”

“You undertook a treacherous journey based on a rumor?”

“I... the claim seemed believable, and I needed a good reason to leave home.”

Zenyatta sighed, his hand finding Genji's under the blanket. “The Shambali monks are indeed at the top of this mountain. I can take you there in a day or two, when you've fully regained your strength.”

“Do... do you think they'll allow me to study under them?”

“Anyone who makes the journey to the top is allowed a place in the monastery. You will be allowed.”

Genji sighed with relief. “Thank you, Zenyatta.”

* * *

Zenyatta was as good as his word. Two days later, as morning reached the tiny cave, the two of them dressed in their heaviest clothing and set off for the top of the mountain.

The intervening time had only reinforced Genji's realization that he loved Zenyatta, but he kept it to himself. He didn't know how long he'd be in the monastery, and he didn't know if he'd ever see Zenyatta again. Even if he sometimes got the feeling that Zenyatta was in love with him, too, it would only make their separation that much harder on both of them. How was Genji going to concentrate on what the Shambali monks taught him if his thoughts lingered on Zenyatta instead?

So he planned for the separation, trying to push away his feelings toward Zenyatta. Neither of them mentioned that first night after it happened, for which Genji was grateful. He would never regret it, but if he thought about it too much, his resolve would start to crumble.

Falling in love with a hermit—what had he expected to happen? Had he really thought that Zenyatta would abandon it all for him, stay with him at the monastery, learn under the monks and remain by his side? And then what happened after he left again and returned to Japan? Zenyatta wouldn't follow him home, would he? Why should he? He had a life somewhere, after all. Genji would have asked, but he felt like it would be prying. Besides, there was no point in learning more personal information when they might never see each other again.

 _It's fine. I'll be fine. It's just one of those things._ Maybe, in a different time, in another life, there could have been something, but right now... Well, Genji would remember their first night with a bittersweet longing.

They only had to climb for a few more hours before they reached the monastery. This high up, the snow was lighter and the wind didn't seem to reach them. Genji felt immediately calmer to know that it really existed.

Zenyatta led him through an archway into an open courtyard where nearly a dozen people lingered—some meditating, some sweeping away snow, and in a corner, two pairs of people sparring. Genji was feeling more at-ease here by the minute.

“Zenyatta,” said a high, quiet voice from their right. Another person with a shaved head approached them with a small but curious smile. “We did not expect you to return for a few more months.”

“I have not returned for the season, Maliri. I simply wished to escort a new pupil here.”

“Oh?” The monk's eyes fell on Genji, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the green dye still in his hair.

“This is Shimada Genji. In his journey up here, he was overtaken with the cold a short distance from my cave. I helped him regain his strength and chose to help him complete his journey.”

“I see. Welcome, Shimada. My name is Maliri. I am the director of this particular monastery. Are you ready to begin your training in the path of self-discipline and inner harmony?”

“I am.”

“Very well. I will take him from here, Zenyatta. Thank you.”

Zenyatta turned and started toward the archway, back to his cave. Genji's chest tightened uncomfortably, a wave of panic overtaking him. “Zenyatta,” he said before he could stop himself.

Zenyatta paused, looking back at him. “Yes?”

He cast around for something to say, but everything seemed woefully inadequate. “Thank you for everything,” he finally said.

Zenyatta nodded with a smile, but it was a sad smile. “I wish you the best, Genji.” Without another backward glance, he continued on his way back down the path. Genji watched him until he disappeared into the snow; as soon as he was out of sight, he felt a crack splitting his heart in two.

“Come along, Shimada,” Maliri said, not unkindly. “You've had a long journey. Allow me to show you around.”

* * *

Life in the Shambali monastery was refreshingly simple. The menial chores that everyone completed were easy—sweeping away snow, caring for the metalwork, cooking, mending clothing and sheets. He took to it easily. The sparring, too, was an easy way for him to focus on something besides his own thoughts, however briefly. But when the monastery gathered for meditation, he could never empty his mind like he was meant to. He constantly found himself thinking of Zenyatta, wondering what he was doing, wondering if Zenyatta was thinking of him, too. If Zenyatta were here, would it be easier for him to focus, or more difficult?

He'd barely been there for two weeks when Maliri approached him one while sweeping out one of the dormitories. “Shimada, may I speak to you?”

“Of course,” Genji said, setting his broom aside and bowing slightly.

“Come along,” Maliri said, and led him out of the dormitories. “How do you find the monastery?”

“It's truly a place of harmony and self-discovery,” Genji said. “I enjoy the flow here.”

“And yet you are not quite as at-ease as you would have me believe. Inner peace escapes you, does it not?”

Genji swallowed. “I simply find my thoughts difficult to ignore sometimes.”

“It's not about ignoring them. It's about acknowledging them and allowing them to fade. But there is a cause for them, a root to the disquiet in your heart.”

“I will learn to—”

Maliri held up a hand. “I would not expect you to know this, but you are not the first person Zenyatta has found nearly dead in the snow down the mountain. You are also not the first person he has directed onward to the top of the mountain and to this very monastery.”

Genji felt his heart sinking. So—he had meant less to Zenyatta than he thought. That was a blow, but he tried not to let it show.

“You _are_ the first person he personally escorted here, though.”

_What?_

“Zenyatta has lived in this monastery since his parents left him here when he was ten. I have known him since that day, and I can assure you that I have never seen him look at someone the way he looked at you. Considering the way he spoke to you, I feel confident in saying that he loves you. I can also see that you love him as well, do you not?”

Genji, not trusting himself to speak, simply nodded.

“Separated from each other as you are, it would not surprise me to learn that Zenyatta was struggling to return to his old routine, just as you struggle to find your focus. I will not tell you that you must return to him immediately, but I _will_ tell you that Zenyatta understands our lessons just as well as any other monk here, and to study under him will bring you both peace. After all, regret is one of the toughest challenges against a happy life.

“If you choose to stay here, you will continue in your current course of study. If you choose to return to Zenyatta, you will be welcome back with him when he returns in the spring. If he agrees, you will be his dedicated pupil until such time that he determines you ready to become a Shambali monk in your own right. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Genji said, his heart soaring. “When can I leave?”

* * *

He left the next morning after breakfast. He didn't need to think about it at all—after all, Zenyatta himself had spoken of unburdening regret. Genji knew he'd regret it if he stayed away from him any longer.

Finding his way back down to Zenyatta's cave was simple. Two weeks wasn't quite enough time to cover the footprints they'd made—two leading up, one leading down. Genji barely felt the cold as he walked, the downhill trip faster than the uphill journey. Soon the cave swung into sight, and he slowed his pace from a brisk walk to a careful meander.

He'd been so excited about coming back that he hadn't thought about what he'd say to Zenyatta. How would he explain why he was back?

Would Zenyatta send him back to the monastery? Worse, would he send Genji back down the mountain? _Please don't send me away._

He quietly nudged the curtain across the entrance aside and peered in. Zenyatta was there, sitting on his knees on the rug in front of the fire. The faint smell of stew still lingered in the air—his breakfast? An early lunch?

As he watched, Zenyatta let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. Genji couldn't see his face, but he had a feeling Zenyatta looked lonely.

“Zenyatta?” he called.

Zenyatta turned around so fast that Genji nearly got whiplash. A joyful smile was splashed across his face. “Genji!” He leaped to his feet and practically sprinted to close the distance between them, flinging his arms around Genji.

Genji had just enough time to drop his pack and wrap his arms around Zenyatta. For a few long moments, they stood there, just holding each other. Genji hadn't known he could miss being held, being touched, by someone this much, but considering the fact that he didn't want to let go ever again, he knew he was right where he belonged again.

“Wha-what are you doing back?” Zenyatta asked, pulling back just enough to look Genji in the eye.

Genji cupped his cheek. “Maliri said I should come back to you for my training, and I agreed. I didn't want this to be something I regretted when I looked back on my life. Besides, I left something here,” he said.

Zenyatta's eyes seemed to shine. “What did you leave?”

“My heart.”

Zenyatta choked on a laugh even as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. He pressed his mouth to Genji's, cradling his face.

Genji sighed happily. He hadn't even realized he'd been lost until he was found, and now he never wanted to leave Zenyatta's side again.

“Thank you for returning to me,” Zenyatta murmured. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Genji said. “Zenyatta, I love you.”

Zenyatta's joyous smile filled Genji's soul with light and peace. “I love you too, Genji.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this! It was a bit of a change from my usual style--no foul language at all??? Feels weird. I meant for the sex scenes to be more erotic than pornographic. Hope I accomplished that.
> 
> And if you like this, please be sure to leave comments, kudos, and share with your friends!
> 
> This damn 'verse won't leave me alone, so keep your eyes peeled for a sequel coming hopefully within the next week. It'll be McHanzo with background Genyatta (and if the stupid plotbunnies decide not to leave me alone, there may be a third part focusing on Reaper:76).


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